


#56 (Kink Meme Fulfillment)

by honestys_easy



Category: American Idol RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: American Idol - RPS, Cell Phones, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-28
Updated: 2009-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honestys_easy/pseuds/honestys_easy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt #56: In the mansion, Adam overhears Kris and Katy having phone sex. Thinks about calling Brad or Drake and then jerks off to thoughts of Kris instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#56 (Kink Meme Fulfillment)

The bathrooms in the mansion did not have particularly thick walls.

Adam discovered this one morning when he heard Kris's voice echo in the shower, singing "Since U Been Gone" at the top of his lungs. It's when he also discovered that, since Adam kept his unapologetic pop tunes between himself and his iPod, Kris had no idea how thin the bathroom walls really were.

This proved to be a problem one night when Kris decided to have phone sex in the bathroom.

It wasn't like he had _meant_ to have phone sex in the bathroom, Adam supposed; he didn't schedule it into his calendar, "10:30 PM, Thursday: call Katy, talk dirty, polish knob." It started off simply as Kris's nightly phone call to his wife, a pretty blond equally petite as Kris; Adam pointed them out in his photos of Hollywood week to his family and Neil declared Adam could carry them around in his pockets. Adam liked Katy, truly and honestly, and he loved watching their conversations and hearing only Kris's side, knowing from the unashamed, beaming smiles that spread across the younger man's face that the girl at least made him happy.

Adam hadn't wanted to know she made him _these_ kinds of happy.

"I miss you, baby..."

He was too exhausted from rehearsals to move from his bed; had he known, had he figured, he would have moved to the other side of the room, away from the bathroom door; maybe laid upon Kris's bed, see how he liked his pillow smeared with eyeliner. The silence behind the door as, Adam surmised, Katy spoke on the other end, was innocuous enough at first, but then a groan erupted from that silence, so sudden and so gutteral Adam had no time to filter himself, remind himself this was _Kris_ and his reaction went straight to his groin.

Fuck.

Adam was never one to ignore an erection until it kindly went away; he wasn't one to get hard while overhearing his straight best friend have phone sex with his wife, either, but he'd been doing a lot of new things since they moved into the mansion. Mouthing an unheard obscenity in the direction of the bathroom door-- _see, Mr. Allen, it is possible to be quiet once in a while_\--Adam reached for his cell phone on the bedside table with one hand, his other instinctively palming his erection through his pants.

He could call Drake: his cock ached at the memory of his Cajun drawl, the enigma of his words both jumbled and slow; wondered how he'd sound moaning into Adam's ear, telling Adam it sounded so good instead of hearing Kris utter those words to Katy on the other side of the door. But he'd _never_ heard those things from Drake before, not even a satisfied grunt from some sloppy groping in a darkened club; they hadn't gotten that serious yet, not while Adam was still on the show, and he preferred to take things slow with Drake, natural, and not put the Southern boy off because Adam needed assistance getting Kris Allen's moans of pleasure out of his head.

His hand was down the front of his pants already, fly undone and zipper shot to hell, and bit his lip as Kris called out "Jesus! you're good." _Jesus_ , indeed.

He could call Brad: that bitch was always up for it, and God knows it wouldn't have been the first time since their breakup one of them retreated back to the old speed dial when they needed to rub one out. But he decided against it, thinking with a little sadness that he'd caused enough trouble for his ex over the past month; he hoped Bill O'Reilly stopped calling by now. Besides, he'd probably Twitter the whole conversation; boy had a damn near obsession with that time waster.

The phone still rested in Adam's palm as he heard Kris panting not ten feet away from him, and his mind stirred up images from his imagination, both wonderful and terrifying: Kris seated with the toilet seat down, plaid pajama bottoms pooled at his ankles, one hand cradling the phone at his ear while the other stroked his cock. His glasses would be askew, he bet, because phone sex never required you to _see_ anything, only _listen_ and _imagine_ and react to the pleasure your partner was giving himself, the pleasure you were giving by proxy. Adam imagined Kris's bare toes curling into the navy blue bath mat, digging into the pile, as he let out a ragged sigh.

"God, I just wanna be with you..."

This whole "Ignore the absurdly hot sounds and mental images of your straight best friend having phone sex with his wife" wasn't really working for Adam that night. His back arched off the mattress as he thrust into his fist, breaking out an unsure, staggered rhythm in spite of himself. He thought of how Kris's back must arch into his own touch, how the hands that Adam watched master the neck of a guitar must ease onto his cock like a song, a symphony of sensation. He thought, as teased the slit of his own cock, surprised and excited by the wetness pooled there, of how Kris must roll his head back when it's getting good, exposing a delicious throat he bet a sweet, pretty girl like Katy never dragged her teeth across; a throat that had never been marked, claimed. Pity.

And he thought about Katy, too, not that it did anything for him, but the fact that she was somewhere across the country, hand tucked between her thighs, eyes rolled to the back of her head over the things her husband was saying to her, the deep, lustful tone and that _voice_ were saying to her... _that_ was doing it for him. He bet that's what Kris saw in his mind, that pretty little wife of his moaning into the phone and fingering herself on their marriage bed. He pictured Kris shuddering from the thought, and Adam shuddered, too.

He brought his other hand to his mouth, muffling a moan and almost biting through his damn cell phone when he heard Kris's moans pick up speed, coil to a higher pitch and tone Adam damn well knew he never attempted on the stage. Adam wasn't even hiding the fact that he was jerking off to the sound of Kris's voice, to the thoughts of what Kris was doing to himself behind that bathroom door; his eyes bore into the wall as he picked up his own pace, twisting his wrist at the head as his hips rose up to fuck his hand. He hoped he could acquire x-ray vision sometime in the immediate future, though the probability looked bleak.

"That would feel so good," Kris keened, with short, insistent moans accenting each word. Adam shouldn't have known Kris was close, shouldn't have such a grip on the nuances of his best friend's state of arousal; he was learning all sorts of new things from Kris Allen. But he could feel it in his own body as well, the sweat breaking out on his brow, the coiling tension mounting in his gut...and as uninhibited with noise as Kris was being, Adam was staying silent, he _had_ to, but fuck all if he didn't want to scream right now...

"Oh God....you..."

Kris licked his lips--fuck, Adam could almost hear Kris lick his lips, slick and wet and begging for attention, his brow creased in concentration on that one feeling, that _release_. Kris's voice cracked mid-moan; Adam wasn't even listening, he couldn't, not when his own cock was jerking in his hand, spilling onto his stomach, his vision dotted with stars. His arousal buzzed around in his head, making him feel dizzy, partly wondering when he decided listening to your best friend have phone sex and masturbating to it was an acceptable activity on a Thursday night, partly telling himself to fuck off because he didn't fucking care.

It was only thirty-six hours later, when his mother called with words of support that sent him teary-eyed to the bathroom, an eyeliner emergency in order, that Adam realized their bathroom had absolutely no fucking cell phone reception to speak of.


End file.
